


The Gentlemen’s Club Affair

by fallingintodivinity



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015), The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pole Dancing, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 14:26:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11807805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: Illya shut the door, then turned around and frowned at Napoleon. “What are you doing here?”“I’m...ah, expanding my horizons,” said Napoleon distractedly. Was Illya wearing anipple ring?Illya squinted at him, following his partner’s gaze. The corners of his lips curled up. “My eyes are up here, Napoleon.”





	The Gentlemen’s Club Affair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackyMedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mr. Fanservice Man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6801529) by [JackyMedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/pseuds/JackyMedan). 



> This story can be read in either movie or TV ‘verse. 
> 
> This was inspired by [JackyMedan](http://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/pseuds/JackyMedan)’s amazing fanart, ‘[Mr. Fanservice Man](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6801529)’ (please note that the fanart is for the TV series). ♥

 

Napoleon Solo pushed a discreet door halfway down a nondescript alleyway open, stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He nodded politely at the burly bouncer standing by the doorway, hoping that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. This wasn’t the first time he’d been to a – the polite term, he supposed, was “gentlemen’s club” – he’d actually been to quite a few, mostly in the course of duty. He didn’t really enjoy them – in his opinion, half the fun of wooing a woman was the thrill of the chase: wining and dining a beautiful lady was at least as much fun as what came after.

This gentlemen’s club, however, was a little different from the ones he’d been to. This club catered to gentlemen who liked... _other gentlemen_.

Funnily enough, it was Aunt Amy who’d started the whole thing.

The past few years, Napoleon had started spending his vacations with his partner, Illya Kuryakin, as they’d grown closer. This year, however, their boss, Mr. Waverly, had insisted that he couldn’t spare both his best agents at the same time, so Napoleon had spent the first half of his time off with his parents, and the second half of it visiting his Aunt Amy.

Aunt Amy was his mother’s younger sister. They’d always been close – he’d spent part of his yearly summer vacation with her for as long as he could remember. This summer had been as pleasant as the past few; he’d brought her to some nice restaurants, and they’d also watched some plays together, which they’d both enjoyed.

He’d brought her for afternoon tea at the Plaza Hotel, regaling her with tales of his and Illya’s missions – at least, the parts that weren’t classified – as they’d nibbled on sandwiches and scones.

As he’d paused to take a breath, she’d leaned across the table, smiling at him.

“I haven’t seen you this smitten since that girl in tenth grade – what was her name – Rosamund?” she’d teased gently, a twinkle in her eye. “Something you’d like to tell me, Napoleon?”

He’d froze in the midst of drawing breath, staring at her with his mouth open.

“Really, dear,” she’d chided him with a smile. “Did it not occur to you that you might be interested in this young man you spend all your time telling me about?”

“ _No_ ,” Napoleon had said blankly. “Well, not until _now_.”

She’d laughed and patted his hand, then given him the address of the club he was currently at, and suggested that he go ‘explore his options’.

He’d gaped at her. “What – how – ”

She’d winked at him mischievously. “You should ask your mother to tell you some stories about the things we got up to when _we_ were in school.”

Napoleon’s eyes had gotten very round, then. _“What?”_

He’d paused. “Actually – no, I don’t think I want to know.”

 

***

 

The club was smoky and dimly lit, the floor plushly carpeted. It was more crowded than Napoleon had expected, although not unpleasantly so.

In the center of the club was a large, round stage with a pole in the center. On stage, a handsome, muscled brunet clad only in a small thong was doing...interesting things to the pole in time with the music playing over the speakers. He had garnered an appreciative audience which had seated themselves at the small tables in front of the stage.

Lining the walls were small booths fitted with leather couches, on which some men were getting private dances.

Napoleon glanced at the booths, then at the stage. He made his way through the crowd to an empty table slightly to one side of the stage and took a seat. After ordering a scotch, he settled in to watch the show.

He had to admit, thought Napoleon, the dancers on stage were very nice-looking. And very flexible. And...while he’d never so much as kissed another man before – or even _considered_ doing so – he had to admit that the idea was rapidly starting to gain some appeal.

He poked at that thought a little more, turning it this way and that in his mind. Hmm, no, he probably wouldn’t mind exploring this a little more...especially if the man he could explore it with was Illya. He wondered what Illya’s thoughts on the subject would be.

Speaking of which – that next man coming up on stage right now kind of looked like his partner. Hmm, that would probably make for a nice fantasy.

Actually, the man looked a _lot_ like Illya.

… _wait a minute_.

Napoleon’s mouth fell open. He frowned, stared down at his scotch suspiciously, then looked back up at the stage.

Illya was still there.

His partner was almost nude except for the pair of tight blue briefs he was sporting. The music started up and Illya began his routine, swinging himself gracefully up onto the pole, strong thighs gripping it tightly. Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the sizeable audience seated in front of the stage.

Napoleon watched most of Illya’s routine in a semi-aroused daze. He briefly wondered if someone had drugged his drink. Was _this_ was he was going to hallucinate about if someone drugged him? Not that he was _complaining_ , mind you. His pants were starting to feel rather tight. Oh dear. Illya was going to kill him.

When Illya flipped himself over, dangling upside-down on the pole supported only by his thighs, blond hair just brushing the floor, the murmurs of appreciation tripled in volume. The man seated behind Napoleon quietly asked his server if she knew whether the gorgeous blond on stage would be available for a private dance after his performance.

Napoleon didn’t hear the server’s reply over the abrupt spike in his blood pressure. He valiantly fought the urge to get up and punch the hapless man.

As Illya ended his performance, his gaze fell on Napoleon, and he faltered briefly, eyes widening ever so slightly. Quickly recovering, he smirked at the audience, winked and sauntered offstage.

 

***

 

The moment Illya’s performance ended, Napoleon sprang out of his seat and hurried toward the private area that Illya had disappeared into. He leaned over the velvet ropes separating the area from the rest of the club, trying to spot his partner.

A heavyset bouncer pushed him back. “Hey, you! This area’s V.I.P. only.”

“Let him through, Dave,” Illya said, walking up to them. He smirked. “He is a...fan.”

Illya’s smirked widened as Napoleon flushed and glared at him indignantly.

The bouncer – Dave – looked dubious. “If you say so, Niko,” he said doubtfully, pulling back the velvet rope to let Napoleon through. “Don’t make any trouble for Niko,” he said to Napoleon in vaguely threatening tones.

“I won’t,” promised Napoleon meekly, then followed Illya down the hallway.

“ _Niko_?” he hissed in an undertone.

Illya shrugged. “They wanted me to have a...what did they call it...‘stage name’.” He opened a door, entered it and gestured Napoleon in.

Napoleon looked around the room. It seemed to be a communal dressing room, with some items of clothing – jeans, a couple of T-shirts – strewn haphazardly over the chairs. Illya’s trousers and shirt lay on a corner of the couch, neatly folded. There was a sparkly thong lying on one of the dressers. Napoleon eyed it dubiously.

Illya shut the door, then turned around and frowned at Napoleon. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m...ah, expanding my horizons,” said Napoleon distractedly. Was Illya wearing a _nipple ring_?

Illya squinted at him, following his partner’s gaze. The corners of his lips curled up. “My eyes are up here, Napoleon.”

Napoleon hastily jerked his gaze upward, guiltily clearing his throat. “So...what are _you_ doing here?”

“Apparently,” his partner said slyly, “I, too, am expanding your horizons.” He looked like he was fighting back a smile as Napoleon blushed and scowled.

“Actually,” Illya explained, “I am here on Mr. Waverly’s orders.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Well,” amended Illya, “he did not say that I had to use _this_ disguise, specifically, but it was the easiest way to sneak in here.”

“Sneak in? Illya, a man would have to be blind to _not_ notice you looking like... _that_. In fact, he’d have to be blind to not take a second look. Or a third.”

Illya stared suspiciously at his partner. “That had better not be an insult.”

 _You have **no idea**_ , thought Napoleon. Out loud, he said, “what was Mr. Waverly thinking, sending you on a mission without me, anyway?”

“I _do_ sometimes manage to do things without you, Napoleon. It’s _so_ very difficult, though.”

“Ah, how I’ve missed that biting sarcasm.”

Illya rolled his eyes and turned away, unhooking the nipple ring. Oh. A fake ring then, not a piercing. Napoleon tried not to feel disappointed.

“Anyway,” he said, attempting to bring his traitorous mind back on track. “I’m your partner, I’m supposed to have your back during a mission.” Illya’s currently _very naked_ back. Which was lightly sheened with sweat. Also, those briefs were riding very low...Napoleon squeezed his eyes shut and briefly prayed for strength.

“Yes, yes,” said Illya, blithely unaware of the deleterious effects he was having on his partner’s already tenuous grasp on heterosexuality. “Well, since you are already here, I suppose you might as well make yourself useful.”

He hurriedly shrugged his shoulder holster on and did up the buckles, then opened the door.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Wait a minute – you’re going out like _that?_ ” Napoleon demanded incredulously. He looked his partner up and down. His currently _mostly naked_ partner, clad only in his shoulder holster and a skimpy pair of bright blue briefs which left...very, _very_ little to the imagination.

Illya raised an eyebrow.

Napoleon thought about the man sitting behind him earlier, the one who’d wanted a private dance from Illya. He scowled fiercely and fought back the urge to wrap Illya in three layers of blankets before letting him out in public, settling for grabbing his partner’s trousers and tossing them at him instead.

“Put those on, at least,” he said.

Illya eyed Napoleon with interest, but complied.

“Oh, and Napoleon?” he said as they let themselves out of the dressing room.

“Yes?”

“If you are still interested in...expanding your horizons, I will be happy to assist. Preferably in private.”

Napoleon promptly almost walked into a door. Illya grabbed his sleeve and yanked him to safety.

“You _do_ know I’m going to take you up on that offer,” Napoleon said.

“Oh,” purred Illya, “I hope you will.”

 

End.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Blanket Burrito Illya](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823105) by [JackyMedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/pseuds/JackyMedan)




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